The Time Was Wrong
by WOWZAcoolBEANS
Summary: Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Edgar was a hero. /Spoilers for Retrace 60/


**Title:** The Time Was Wrong

**Synopsis:** Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Edgar was a hero.

**Rating: **K+

**A/N**: All I do is write emo drabbles about Elliot. Seriously. That's all I've written for months. I don't post three-fourths of them. Because three-fourths of them are terrible. Including this one.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Pandora Hearts_, its characters or anything else I might miss in this disclaimer.

**...**

"_Juliet, the dice were loaded from the start._"

-Dire Straits

…

It was never going to be some kind of a sappy romance novel. It was never going to be a swashbuckling adventure, either. Neither of us were a damsel in distress and even though I wished I were, neither of us was a Prince Charming kind of guy. The most we could do was just accept each other for who we were.

When I was a kid, I was one of those bright-eyed optimist kind of kids. I don't know where it came from. I'm not at all like that now, and nor is anyone in my family. It must have some buried recessive gene that disappeared completely by the time that I hit thirteen and probably sooner than that. But I used to imagine all of these games.

I'll admit it: I had no friends. Besides my brothers and occasionally my sister and my adopted-brother—Gilbert, not Vincent; never Vincent—I was alone. My parents were there… Sort of, but were more involved in politics and social engagements than in my life. I went to school, but was arrogant even back then and thought myself too good to be friends with the people there. They either spat on me—metaphorically, of course, not literally—because I was a Nightray, or sucked up to me because I was a Nightray. It was a no-win situation. I was better off staying with my family.

But back to the games. I would play these all the time, playing every character that my imagination could come up with. They say that avid readers have avid imaginations. I think I'm living proof. Even though most of my pretend games were rip-offs of the picture books that I read or the novels that my siblings or governesses read to me, I still made them my own. I made sure that my favorite characters always got the girl and that the ones I disliked never escaped my plots without getting eaten by sharks or something equally as gruesome.

Somewhere along that line, I grew to think that I was a hero. That when the time came, I would be able to save everyone I loved from whatever adverse situation they were in. I'd get the girl and the glory. I'd restore the Nightray name and lead my dukedom to the honorable fame that it deserves.

I was about nine when I started to realize that these fantasies were only that—fantasies, never to be realized, only to be played out by heroes in books and in my own head.

As I've stated before, I'm better off alone. Even now, I regret—No. That's not the right word. I understand that it's better off for me to just stay unchanging. But I really did think that I could make a difference. Maybe that's why I now feel so broken. Not only am I dying, but also I'm not sure that I ever lived. I chased a dream; I was always chasing a dream.

And then I was always chasing him.

There was that picture in my mind of the life I would lead. I never expected a Leo to be in it. It was going to be a girl and me. Probably beautiful, not in a stereotypical way, but in a way that only I could see. She would smile and just capture the people she met, is what I would dream. And, call me a hopeless romantic—which I still don't think I am—but I always thought that there would be something in her eyes that would make me never want to let go of her.

Leo rarely smiles, and when he does, it usually looks pretty demonic. And most of the time, you can't even see his eyes. When you can? They're weird. They're… different. Not in a bad way, but in a chilling way. Like an autumn breeze, maybe? It's not unpleasant, but there's something expectant in each breath you take. Leo's eyes reminded me of that. I grew to love them.

He was not Eurydice or Cinderella or Guinevere. He was nothing like I ever expected. And it wasn't that I fell in love with him because he was a guy. I fell in love with him because he was Leo. Thinking now, I'm sure that if he had come in any other package, I would have fallen for him in the same way. I just felt incomplete when I wasn't by his side.

I wish I had realized it sooner. By the time that I had… It was probably too late.

He never told me what was happening. I was kept completely in the dark and he let me stay there. And it wasn't only him. I had become trapped by my own mind. Everything I had ever stood for, everything I had ever valued disappeared the instant that I was able to recover what I had been hiding. I was not a prince, I was not even the likable pauper.

Suddenly I had become the disposable villain's sidekick, easily manipulated and unimportant to the plot.

It was funny because I had always imagined that I was the main character in my own life. I was so unaware that I had only a small supporting role. I would never be remembered. I would never be the hero. I would never even have the chance to do the things that I had always wanted to.

I can't hate Leo. As much as I try I just can't bring myself to hate him. I want to protect him—I always have. If I hadn't trusted him and cared for him so much, then I don't think I would have ever let my guard down enough to be engulfed in this situation. Even now as I walk towards a destination that no one but God knows, I can only feel affection for my friend.

I never told him how I felt. It was just another fact that I had hid from myself. I wonder if he will think of me when I'm gone. I hope he doesn't. I hope he just forgets and moves on with his world. Patch up the pieces, Leo, and walk forward. Do what I could not. Take care of Gilbert and Oz for me; they're useless and I won't be around to guide them anymore.

Even though it's an excuse, I guess I believe that this was all fated. It's funny—hours ago I would have called fate the easy way out for people who don't want to admit their mistakes. I never stopped to think that maybe fate was cruel to some people and kind to others. I never stopped to think tat I would be one upon whom fate would give its cruel grin.

Maybe I'll be reborn again and can be someone's prince, but I get the feeling that this is really the end. The blood has clotted and I am gone. Goodbye. I have no beautiful other last words. "Humpty Dumpty… I reject you." The thing that ended my life is also the last thing that I thought about. Those are the words of a hero. I, maybe, was wrong about Edgar. Maybe he was okay and maybe he was a hero.

Or maybe I'm just kidding myself. I was never important. In a few years, every word I ever said will be gone and all that will remain of me, like my brothers, is a tombstone and a few wilted flowers sitting on top of it left by a passerby who felt sorry enough for my misfortunes to spare me a single thought. Nothing more, and nothing less.

I don't think I died the death of a hero.


End file.
